Christmas Kitty
by Sora Resi
Summary: Alfred wants Arthur to visit him this Christmas instead of being the miserable Scrooge that he normally is. Unfortunately, he didn't turn up to the latest meeting. Deciding to be a hero and take care of his 'sick' crush, Alfred decides to pay him a visit and convince him that way... rated T for language, just a bit of fluff for Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Swirling flurries of snow settled on the frozen ground, a not so odd occurrence for Washington DC in December. The last world meeting scheduled for the year was finally wrapping up and all the nations present were either eagerly discussing their plans or desperately trying to blank those who were. Street-lights could be seen reflecting a washed out orange light onto the white ground from the window of the large room used in this week's presentations, as groups of people chatted merrily, invitations being handed out amongst themselves and arrangements made.

France managed to corner America immediately after the super power had managed to shake off Russia. Although he'd been a lot better and a lot less super-creepy-communist-be-one-with-Russia in recent years, Alfred had a feeling he'd never really like the imposing, cold nation. Pity him, yes, but he couldn't get over the Cold War even now, and Ivan's creepy grins were like nails on a chalkboard to the younger nation. Anyway, after hastily handing over a bottle of vodka purchased by some unknown intern at the White house to be given as a gift solely for diplomatic reasons, Alfred had shook off the monster of a nation only to be promptly picked up by France, who had come over to discuss his own festive plans. Which basically consisted of stalking Alfred's little brother, cooking a lot of food and hoping to get Canada drunk enough for him to get lucky.

"I honestly didn't need to know all of that, dude."

"Hmmm, are you jealous, mon Amérique?"

"Absolutely not. I'm so far from jealous I think I might be approaching it from the other side. I don't think I'll ever shake the mental images you've conjured up."

"Honhonhon. So have you got plans with Angleterre, then?"

"I dunno. I was gonna harass him into coming over to my house for Christmas. He's such a miserable grinch around this time of the year. Last year he didn't even have a Christmas tree! How can someone even do that?! But he's not here, is he? Makes that plan kinda hard to act on." France simply hmmed.

"It is not often that Arthur is unwell enough to completely miss a world meeting. Even when 'e is sick 'e usually tries his best to come anyways. I believe he is under the impression that nobody can takes notes that are as good as 'is." He grinned dryly at this statement. "I do not know, are you intending on checking in on 'im? He's been refusing to answer the phone to me, although, 'e keeps telling me to 'piss off' when I text him, so he can't be feeling _all_ that bad..." Alfred scoffed.

"Course I'm gonna visit him. I'm the hero, right? If he's feeling sick, and at Christmas time too, then it's my job to make sure he gets better quickly!" He heroically punched the air. France rolled his eyes.

"Any chance of you getting even close to admitting your feelings to him, or am I going to have to do what I've been threatening for a good 60 years now and get you so drunk you have no choice other than to confess? It would certainly save me from 'aving to buy Arthur a present if he's wrapped up with you."

"Ha-fricken-ha, Francis." Alfred scowled at the smirking Frenchman, but both knew that he knew what he was talking about.

"Anyway, I'm back off to my lovely country. It may not have as much snow, but it definitely has a lot more_ amour_, hmm?" He winked and flounced off in the direction of Canada, wrapping an arm around the meek nation who had taken up residence by the door, waiting for Francis to appear. Alfred made a gagging motion, but it was half-hearted at best. Haphazardly grabbing all of his stuff and casually ignoring the fact that half of his notes went flying in the direction of the floor, he began planning his impromptu trip to England.

_**~SR~**_

There wasn't any snow in England, a fact that became apparent rather immediately after Alfred had gotten off his flight at Heathrow. It was far too cold for snow, with frost layering the pavements and roads, and icy patterns adorning trees, benches and vehicles that hadn't been used recently enough to have melted off their icy coat. Arthur's house was a fair distance away from the airport and Alfred couldn't be bothered to walk, even though he'd had the foresight to wrap up warm, even remembering his scarf and gloves. Instead, he chose a random taxi idling outside the airport, hopped into the back and gave the necessary directions.

As the taxi pulled out into the road, he grinned to himself victoriously. He was going to swoop in and save his crush from his illness, and then Arthur would realise just how amazing he was, and then maybe they'd be able to snuggle up in bed or on the sofa because it was so cold and everyone knew that was the best way to stay warm~

Yup, this was going to rock.

_**~SR~**_

When he got to Arthur's house, his greeting wasn't quite as warm as he'd anticipated. Opening the door merely a fraction of an inch, Arthur had scowled through the tiny space available whilst quite bluntly refusing to open it any further.

"Artie ~"

"Piss off and die." The door was slammed abruptly into the smiling American's face. His grin was replaced by a childish pout.

"Aww, come on... it's Christmas! Even a grinch like you has to be happier than usual. Christmas spirit and decorations and presents and all that stuff. Come on~!"

"No." His voice was muffled by three inches of solid oak door, but he didn't sound particularly sniffly or unwell. More annoyed, than anything. Said door would have looked rather spiffy with a festive wreath, but when Alfred voiced this thought he was met with a sullen silence.

"You still there, dude?"

"... no. Go away." Well, this clearly wasn't working the way Alfred had planned.

"No chance! Let me in before I knock your door down. Or freeze to death... it's like the fricken Arctic out here. Is that why you're always so miserable?_ You have an icy heart._"

He was only met with more silence.

"Well, then..." Taking a few steps back he grinned, rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles in preparation. Just as he was about to launch himself heroically at the offending mass of varnished oak, it creaked open a fraction. Warm light flowed out into the cold evening air. Through the crack he spied a single, emerald eye peeping out wearily.

"Break my door and die, America. This is original to the house, dammit."

"You know I wasn't really gonna do it, right?"

"'Going to', and after the last seventy one times that you've broken either a door or windows in my house, I've started to take your threats of property damage seriously."

"Those were accidents!"

"Sure. I can only assume it's because you forget exactly how much you weigh." Alfred ignored the standard jab at his weight. He knew that Arthur never meant it with malice.

"... I can't believe you actually kept count."

The green eye was unimpressed.

"Anyway, can I come in yet?"

"No. When I told you to go away I meant it."

Deciding that Arthur had stalled enough, Alfred ignored this last statement and pushed his way through the partially-open door and into the softly illuminated hallway, ignoring the loud protests that met his actions and completely disregarding the small, flailing Brit. Turning around to look at his ex-big brother with a Colgate-grin he...

Stopped. And froze. And his mouth maybe hung open a little bit from shock.

Messy blonde hair, dark eyebrows (not thick like people liked to say, just vividly darker than the rest of his hair), shocking absinthe eyes and a scowling face met the astonished American. These were all very much normal.

No... it was the cat ears that weren't normal.

* * *

**_AN: Whelp, I'm bored and this is the result. Keep tuned for the next chapter and please read and review! It makes me so happy if people actually say they like my stuff :)_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Arthur had cat ears on his head. Not the sort that slutty teenagers wear with minimal clothing at Halloween, but honest to god, living cat ears. They were pressed against his ashen blonde hair and looked kind of floppy, like a special breed of cat that Alfred had seen on the internet once. Peering around a flustered Brit, he spied a fuzzy tailed curled tightly around his one leg. Without even thinking about his actions, he grasped Arthur by the waist with one hand and pulled him against his larger body, fondling the adorable kitty ears despite the mewling protests (holy crap, that was cute!) from below him. Arthur wriggled frantically but, as usual, could do nothing against Alfred's abnormal strength. Giving up, he flopped pathetically and ended up burying his face into Alfred's winter jacket, surrendering to the good-natured molestation of his newly-acquired features.

Until Alfred thought it would be funny to start pulling at his tail, when he decided to bite him. Hard. On the neck. After this he easily broke free and, ignoring Alfred's childish whining (he was such a baby - the bite hadn't broken the skin and would fade in a matter of minutes), made his way out of the hallway and towards his kitchen. At least there he'd be able to get a cup of tea, if only so he could occupy his hands for long enough so as to avoid strangling the loudly complaining American that followed him, still attempting to grab the swishing appendage that swayed teasingly in front of him.

_**~SR~**_

Arthur perched on a chair in his kitchen, wearily observing the American who sat at the other end of the table. On the table, not a chair, with his legs crossed and jacket thrown on the worktop near the kitchen door. Surely he'd taught the lad manners at some point? Evidently they hadn't stuck. He blamed France's influence post-revolution. Everything was usually his fault in some way or another.

Unconsciously, his recently-acquired tail flicked back and forth, in time with the increasingly-annoying clock that ticked liked a gunshot through the room. Alfred was the first to break the cloying silence.

"So... how exactly did this happen?" Arthur shifted into a slightly more comfortable position.

"Well, I was doing a spell-"

"Go figure. Have you ever not screwed up a spell? Remember that one time when you ended up with-" He was cut off. The usual scowl had taken up residence on Arthur's face, and he could feel a headache coming on.

"Shut up! My spell was fine this time. One of the potions I used was contaminated... my brothers probably through it was be absolutely hilarious." His brothers thought anything that caused him additional suffering and/or humiliation was brilliant, so this was a pretty fair assumption on his behalf. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time one of the idiots had screwed around with the magic-related paraphernalia that he kept in his basement. On one memorable occasion (which Alfred could never, _ever_ know about), such meddling had resulted in a temporary change of gender. Ireland hadn't been able to walk without a limp for weeks after it had been reversed, and rightly so.

"So it that why you've been avoiding everyone? I mean, I know we're all busy, but the last time I saw you was, like, a whole month ago. I thought you'd at least be at the conference 'cause you never miss them, but then you pulled a sicky... I got worried." Light glinted off his glasses as he fiddled with them, clearly trying to distract himself from his own statement. "But then I realised you were probably just being a stodgy old man, and it's a hero's duty to stop people like you ruining Christmas for everyone else!" Probably not the best recovery, but good considering this was Alfred. It didn't work.

"... really? You were worried?" Arthur shook his head and dismissed all the psychological baggage that accompanied this little revelation. He muttered, "Anyways, I doubt I missed all that much."

"Course ya didn't, although France had to find someone else to molest. Poor Canada, he-" His rambling was cut short by a loud yawn and... adorable pointy teeth peaking out from behind rosy lips. He stared. Arthur blushed and looked away pointedly, shifting his position in the chair so that he was angled away from Alfred, making the legs scrape faintly on the linoleum floor. Unfortunately, this didn't serve in his favour, as the blundering oaf simply stood up, slid off the table, made his way over and once again grabbed his former guardian, still deaf to his loud complaints, drawing him into a massive hug. Arthur barely even bothered trying to break free this time around, and instead succumbed fairly easily.

Obviously feeling some need to explain himself, he muttered quietly into the younger man's chest. "Sorry Alfred. I'm just tired... I seem to be exhausted half of the day since I ended up like this." He yawned again, and unconsciously curled into the warmth the was Alfred, before seeing to realise what he was doing and, flushing. pulling away. Alfred internally squee-d and possibly melted a little at the cuteness overload, not that he'd admit it out loud. Heroes didn't find little Brits with adorable folded ears, mewling yawns and a tail that was now wrapped around one of his own legs cute. Definitely not.

Ever-deaf to the smaller man's protests (namely, that his legs still worked thank-you-very-much), Alfred picked him up bridal-style (mouth sufficient distance from his neck to prevent a repeat of what had happened earlier) and carried him into the living room attached to the kitchen, dropping him onto the one sofa. It was dark, with a distinct lack of Christmas lights or a roaring fire, which Alfred decided to rectify. However, Arthur had clearly spent the last few weeks violently avoiding the outdoors, and there was absolutely no chopped firewood and his coal bucket had barely a dusting of black at the bottom. Oh well, he was a hero, and heroes certainly don't let stuffy _cute_ grumpy _mewling_ Brits go cold, especially not in the dead of winter!

With that in mind, he got to work. It certainly didn't look like this Christmas would go as he'd planned, seeing as it seemed very unlikely that Arthur would venture out until this spell had worn off, but he still had plenty of time to get close to his crush and, hopefully, sweep him off his feet with his amazing heroics. In fact, there was a very distinct chance that this holiday could turn out even _better_ than he'd anticipated!

_**~SR~**_

Alfred prodded the fire into life with a metal stoke before turning around and facing Arthur. The fire wasn't quite roaring yet like he'd pictured in his head, but it was crackling away nicely and was already producing a fair bit of heat. Said heat had begun to radiate around the room, but it still wasn't as cosy as he'd like so he'd also grabbed a blanket from the laundry room and plonked it on top of Arthur. The kitty-fied nation was now curled up and watching the flames contently, eyes drooping and tail flicking happily. Alfred through it was adorable, but decided that he liked his head being attached to the rest of his body and instead chose a safer route of conversation.

Thusly, he chose the only topic that mattered at this time of the year and criticised Arthur's absolutely unacceptable lack of effort regarding his decorations. The lack of festive lights and cheesy reindeer statues was incredibly glaring, in his mind.

"So you've been kinda housebound... why the hell aren't there any decorations up? Don't tell me you've had better things to do cause if you chose books over decorating, you've got serious problems." He grinned at the peeved expression that met this statement. "I mean, I can understand not having a tree if ya don't want people to see you, but where are the lights and tinsel and all that sort of stuff?" Even when he was Scrooging at his best, Arthur usually deigned to at least place some tinsel over the fireplace. It was disconcerting to look around and see the house in exactly the same state it was the rest of the year around.

Arthur wriggled on the sofa slightly, scrunched up the blanket and then buried his face in it. Alfred could see from his spot on the rug an embarrassed dusting of pink on face.

"Ah... do you remember that little... incident I had earlier this year with the oven?"

"The one that made your entire house smell like a bonfire for a month?"

"Yup." Another wriggle. Alfred rolled his eyes at Arthur's seeming inability to stay still, even when he claimed to be tired. Clearly this conversation was making him uncomfortable. "Turns out the smoke damaged basically all of my Christmas-related decorations, and because I'd stored the box of Christmas stuff in the pantry until I could move it to the attic, it was all too stained or smoky to use this year. I was going to go out and get some more, but," and here he shrugged, "I didn't get around to it earlier in the year and all the best decorations are in shops in December anyway. And then this happened."

Alfred nodded in agreement, but tactfully didn't mention that in America 'December' was actually usually 'September'. It was odd to see his ex-big brother so calm and relaxed, especially seeing as this time of the year always seemed to leave him extra grouchy, and he didn't want to set him off in one of his rants.

"So when's this... thing gonna wear off, exactly? You said you've already been like it for, like, at least a month." He paused. "It _is_ going to wear off, right?" Not that Alfred would complain about keeping a cute kitty-England, of course, but he could imagine it having rather a massive impact on everything else.

"My intended spell wasn't permanent, so it'll fade sooner or later... preferably sooner." Alfred could see him start to drift off in the flickering firelight.

"Hmm." Alfred stoked the fire again. It was starting to go up nicely now. Arthur stifled a yawn with his hand.

"You never really explained what you were doing here, anyway. Don't you have some massive Christmas party to be getting organised?" Even heavy with sleep, his piercing eyes felt light a spotlight, and it took all of Alfred's willpower to not blush and stutter. He knew admitting that he'd wanted to spend it with Arthur to his face would be tantamount to letting him know he liked him, and he wasn't sure if he could deal with that quite yet.

"Eh? No, not this year. All the other nations are doing smaller things so it was pretty pointless. Figured I'd just hang out with family, too. 'Cept Mattie is with Francis and Tony vanished about a week ago to do something I didn't really wanna ask about, so I ended up coming here instead."

Arthur harrumphed in response but said nothing. Assuming he'd upset the Brit and that he was sulking, Alfred pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the smaller man with the intention of prodding him, only to find a slumbering ex-empire, fast asleep and completely unaware that he was even there.

Also, he was purring.

_Awwww~_

* * *

**_AN: I can foresee that this'll be a 'write and see where it goes' story, because I've only got the vaguest idea of a plot in mind :D I hope you're all enjoying it, and thanks to 'EuterpeDream' and 'Guest' for reviewing the last chapter, and to all the guys and gals who followed! Please continue to read and review because it makes me very happy._**

**_Also, apparently 'flusteringly' isn't a word. I do not think this is right, but I can't argue with the dictionary :/_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After Arthur had fallen asleep, Alfred had taken the very rarely-presented opportunity to get a bit closer to the Brit and had wriggled his way onto the sofa next to him. Before he'd even had a chance to figure out what he'd do next, the sleeping nation had curled into the warm body as though it was a pillow and had left Alfred with no option other than to stay where he was, a dozing Arthur now resting his head on his lap, and internally planning his next move.

Obviously, a pretty big priority was to make Arthur's Christmas as awesome as possible, even with the little problem he had at the moment, and he was under no doubt that being the amazing person he was, he could totally make it one of Arthur's best Christmas' ever. Then maybe, awed by Alfred's awesomeness, Arthur would save him the stress of being the first to break and admit that he was head over heels for the older man, although if the last seventy or so years were anything to go by, he was so dense this was as likely to happen as France giving up sex.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Alfred only realised how much time had passed when he'd opened his eyes and greeted a distinctly _out_ fire. Figuring that he'd been more tired than expected (and the warm, purring body on his lap was remarkably soothing) a glance at his watch confirmed that several hours had passed. Arthur was still fast asleep and the room was still comfortably warm, although he knew that sooner or later the cold would start to seep in and he'd have to stoke the fire back into life. They were almost out of matches too, so a visit to a shop was certainly in order. However, as everything was alright for the moment he decided against disturbing Arthur and stayed where he was, watching Arthur's ears twitching sleepily and pondering.

It was weird just how dramatically the need to protect Arthur was flaring up within his heart. Don't get him wrong, the desire had always been there, and excessively so in the years since the World Wars (once they'd reconciled and their relationship could actually be called a relationship, as opposed to simmering hatred). It had been most glaring during World War 2 and the subsequent years, when a combination of the blitz and rationing had taken Arthur's normally slight and lithe body and left it frail to the point of emaciation. It had taken all of his willpower not to sweep the proud Brit into his arms and never let him go, but the old man was holding up on his own and would have slit his own throat before accepting that sort of treatment, especially from someone he had once raised. He still couldn't vocalise in words just how relieved he'd been once Germany had called off the aerial attacks, or when he himself had joined into the war efforts. He was pretty damn sure that if it had lasted much longer, Arthur would have not made it.

And then there were the years since. Of the handful of occasions during the Cold War when things had actually gotten physical between Ivan and himself, a majority of these were as a result of the imposing Russian directly or indirectly threatening the island nation. The slimy bastard could see exactly how much Arthur meant to him, and had exploited it to his heart's content. When Francis' approaches got too close for comfort, it was Alfred that had warned him to back off. When a tragic event had happened (Di's death had been a bad one), it was Alfred who was by his side to comfort him and make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit when he tried to drink the world away.

He wasn't sure if Arthur had noticed these things or placed any significance upon them, and had never brought up the matter because it was nicer to stay in his little safe bubble than open up the can of worms that admitting everything to Arthur's face would create.

It was odd to hold Arthur in his current state. As mentioned, he'd always been rather small and slight, especially in the last century or so. The rationing mindset had never really left him, so even in the more recent and prosperous times he'd never had much of a chance to regain the weight the wars had caused him to lose. But this new form somehow seemed to make him even more insubstantial than usual. Alfred's burning desire to encompass and protect the smaller nation was raging with even more ferocity than usual.

Was it some sort of placebo effect, or was he genuinely smaller now? As Alfred was puzzling over this, said nation began to stir, slowly rousing into wakefulness. Forcing heavy eyes open, it seemed to take a few moments for him to realise exactly what position the two of them were in and he flailed to his feet, dragging the blanket along with him and ending up in a tangled mess on the living room floor, tail twitching in annoyance. Once he'd managed to get his limbs to co-operate and untangled himself, he pointedly avoided looking at Alfred and made his way out of the room without meeting the larger nation's gaze.

Alfred could see that Arthur was feeling fairly embarrassed and awkward about waking up as he had, and decided for once in his life to read the atmosphere and not push the issue. He neko-fied country grumbled quietly under his breath, still refusing to meet Alfred's eyes, and stumbled into the kitchen on what was no doubt a quest for his morning cuppa. Alfred trailed behind, amused at Arthur's reaction. As Arthur flicked the kettle on, Alfred settled on one of the chairs facing him.

"Have a nice sleep?"

"Piss off," he grunted, tossing a teabag into the clean mug and adding the necessary amount of sugar that he needed to function.

"I've been thinking of what we're gonna do next."

"We're not _going_ to do anything. I'm perfectly content to stay here until the spell wears off. You're welcome to bugger off back to your own country in the meantime." Alfred chuckled; he forgot how haughty Arthur could be if he woke up too quickly. He'd be better after a cup of tea.

"Anyways!" He ignored the mutterings that 'anyways' wasn't an actual word. "So first things first, we need to restock your decoration stash."

"Well I'm not coming with you, in case that wasn't already obvious." He scowled and turned to face Alfred. "A hat would cover the ears, but there's no way in hell that I could hide the tail. The bloody thing has a mind of it's own." Alfred pouted, but he'd expected the answer. Arthur wasn't the sort to go out and about when he didn't feel like doing so, and there was nothing at Alfred's disposal to bribe him with.

"Well, guess I'm on my own, then. Mind if I borrow the car?"

"Actually, I do." He added milk and took a sip, entire body relaxing into the warm beverage.

"That was once!" Arthur huffed, but gave in.

"Fine, as long as you remember to drive on the right side of the road this time."

The last time he'd forgotten he'd accidentally gone around a roundabout the wrong way and ended up with a tail of five police cars, so Alfred forgave Arthur for holding that one against him. So, after unpacking his suitcase from the night before (read: spread it across every available surface in the guest room) Alfred got himself cleaned and dressed, slurping a massive custom mug of coffee all the while, and then began the long trek into London.

_**~SR~**_

Despite the hardships economically the last few years, it was safe to say that Alfred still didn't have much of a concept of 'saving money'. Once he was in the city and buying, he went wild. Fortunately for Arthur, he was spending his own money for once and his little shopping spree wouldn't affect anyone other than himself. Alfred had never told Arthur that, every month or so, Tony would do something he _totally_ knew nothing about and fiddle with the electronic data so 'going wild' was totally within his means. And cause he used it for heroic purposes (buying poor children toys, getting food for homeless people, saving Brits-in-distress at Christmas) it was totally justifiable!

Alfred hadn't bothered to write a list (although he'd scribbled 'matches' on his hand because it wasn't Christmas without a roaring fire and it was always the one thing he desperately needed that he'd inevitably forget) because Arthur had completely destroyed his _entire _stash of decorations, excluding some incredibly old and possibly antique ones that were, by this millennium, far too fragile to even think about using. As a result, Alfred decided to go all out and re-buy absolutely everything so that they could decorate Arthur's house properly. And whilst London didn't have quite as many fancy and crazy decorations that his own country produced, they honestly weren't far off.

To replace the Christmas lights he purchased basic multi-coloured fairy lights with various flashing settings, and then found some awesome lights shaped like mini Christmas trees and another set of flashing white and blue snowflakes. He fell in love with some snowman lights, too, but he figured that even in the rather mellow mood that Arthur was in at the moment, he would still object to them on the grounds that they were 'tacky'. Tinsel was, of course, a priority, so he chose every colour under the sun (holy crap, they even had red, white and blue!), including some pine-effect with bells and red ribbons hanging from it that he knew would look good on the living room mantelpiece.

After a small break at McDonalds' and several burgers that didn't even have time to touch the side of his mouth before being swallowed whole (washed down by some spiffy festive cupcakes he'd bought from a nearby bakery and diet coke), he went hunting for decorational trinkets. Bearing in mind that Arthur was geared towards slightly more oldie looking things, he chose some fancy-looking candles with wreathes around their bases, along with some traditional baubles. Then he went to an incredibly expensive high street store and bought all of these amazingly detailed tree decorations, ranging from carousel horses to intricate snowflakes. He even managed to find one shaped like a teacup! He'd chuckled to himself whilst purchasing it, knowing that Arthur would adore it, even if he acted like he didn't.

Arthur was going to love him for this, he could tell. The awesome hero would save his Christmas, and then maybe he'd muster up enough nerve to try and move their relationship forward from 'just friends with awkward moments and UST' to full on 'lovers'.

All in all, his little trip into the city took the best part of the morning and dawdled on into the early afternoon. He spent as much time in traffic as he did actually shopping and finally pulled into the drive of Arthur's country house at around 3 in the afternoon. Dumping bags and bags of Christmas-related stuff on the expansive Christmas table to in front of an astounded Arthur, he helped with the initial unpacking and between the pair of them they started to make the house look a little bit more festive.

After about another hour of this (whereupon the house looked like a tinsel bomb had exploded, much to Alfred's delight and Arthur's chagrin) Arthur started to look dozy and ended up dropping to sleep on the sofa halfway through Alfred stringing up lights over the fireplace. Deciding against waking up Arthur during his catnap, Alfred left a note on the table, nabbed an axe out of the wood shed and wondered off into the nearby forest in search of a good sized Christmas tree. He knew there was probably some law against chopping trees down without permission, but he'd looked at some on sale in a garden centre and they were an absolute rip off! Tiny, spindly things that looked like they'd cave if you put more than a dozen baubles on them, and he couldn't be having with that.

It took a couple of hours to find something that looked appropriate, although it only took the superpower a couple of strokes to down it and one arm to lift it over his shoulder and start dragging it back to the house. It was getting properly dark, the winter nights drawing in so that the sun had set some time before. The air was crisp and there was a cold bite to the wind and there was a smell in the air that Alfred vaguely associated with snow, although he wasn't sure whether anything would actually fall. England as a country didn't tend to get sincere snowfall until January/February, so only time would tell. A white Christmas would be amazing, though, he thought to himself. It would just bring everything together.

Once he got back he shunted the door open with his shoulder and dragged the tree into the hallway, calling Arthur to come and lend a hand manoeuvring it into the living room. When he got no response he sighed to himself and dropped the pine, sprinkling needles all over the carpet, and sauntered into the living room fully prepared to rudely drag Arthur from his rest. However, Arthur wasn't on the sofa any more. Perplexed, he poked his head into the kitchen and didn't see him there either. Calling to no response, he checked every room, but there was no sign of the diminutive Englishman and no note left to explain why he would not be there.

Arthur was gone.

* * *

_**AN: Yay, another chapter! And it's almost Christmas, too ;) I'm in a very cat-related mood at the moment, because my Mum breeds bengal cats and has just decided to keep an adorable rosetted boy from our latest litter. He's absolutely heart-meltingly cute!**_

_**I hope you're all enjoying this and as usual, if you are please tell me! I love getting reviews :)**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Arthur struggled futilely against the burlap bag, fingernails scratching at the fabric vainly, trying to find enough of a hold to tear through the fabric and break free from the suffocating prison. Kicking and flailing seemed to have no effect against the person holding him tightly. He could feel himself being tossed rudely, and then the sensation of being tied up with (what he presumed were) ropes. They scratched unpleasantly against the outside of the sack, and his newly-sensitive ears cringed at the invasive sounds. He tried to kick against his captor, but strong arms held his legs tightly together, and a pressure on his back pinned him down as the ropes were tightened to the point of holding him still without quite cutting off the blood supply to his limbs. Arms and legs completely immobilised, more ropes were added to prevent him from potentially wriggling his way loose.

Unable to struggle against the new restraints beyond a dreadfully undignified butt-wriggle, he finally stilled as a car door slamming and an engine rumbling alerted him to the fact that he was now in a moving vehicle. He swore he could hear a deep chuckle from a metre or so in front of him, but no matter how much he wished to reach over and throttle the person he was completely helpless. Throat hoarse from the yelling that had transpired only minutes earlier, he exhaled deeply, closed his eyes and instead focused on breathing.

**_~SR~_**

After frantically double-checking his previous conclusion and confirming that the small Englishman was absolutely nowhere in the house, Alfred had retrieved Arthur's car keys from the counter (where he'd tossed them only a couple of hours earlier; he'd been lectured enough times about leaving them in the ignition) and was about to launch himself heroically out into the wilderness in search of his lost love when a fluttering piece of paper had shaken itself loose from its place in the letter slot and caught the corner of his eye.

As he paused to read it, a rare frown settled on his face, growing deeper as he reached the end. In itself the note was rather short and succinct, but the information it contained concerned him, especially considering the people involved. Hurriedly crumpling the piece of paper into his jacket pocket, he carried on his way with extra urgency.

**_~SR~  
_**

Curse that infernal frog! Had he known the bastard was at the door he'd have never opened the bleeding thing! (Really, he shouldn't have opened the door at all because only Alfred knew of his present state and he was more than enough, but whoever it was had banged and banged and after ten minutes of this he was so enraged he didn't even bother to peer through he peep hole before flinging the door open and yelling at them to 'shut the bloody fuck up!') It was bad enough that the slimy devil had seen him in his current state, even worse that he'd quickly acquired that warning smirk that informed Arthur of unpleasant things to come, most likely blackmail.

He'd thought he was in the clear when he'd slammed the door in his lecherous face and spied him heading back towards his car (apparently the spell must have messed with his common sense, though, because there was no way Francis would ever back away from something as juicy as _this_), but the celebration had been premature as he'd soon returned with some extra implements at hand.

And why on earth would he keep a sack in his car? It wasn't exactly the sort of thing one would use on a day to day basis, was it? As least the rope was vaguely explicable, seeing as this was Francis he was talking (_thinking_) about. Although, on second thoughts, it was probably better to not to ponder upon what went through his perverted mind. One could give themselves an aneurysm if they thought on it too hard, especially a non-perverted minded gentleman such as himself.

It was embarrassing that Francis had been able to subdue him in the first place, but he firmly placed the blame on the fact that he'd just barely-awoken from his sleep. It didn't help that his new form seemed to be at least a little bit weaker than he normally was, not to mention apparently a lot easier for stupid frogs to manhandle.

The journey was far too long for Arthur's liking, bumps in the road resulting in him being tossed about like a rag doll on what he presumed was the back seat of the vehicle. At least one pothole had resulted in him violently banging the back of his head, to a chorus of swears. A couple of times he attempted to start up some conversation in the form of yelled expletives that were too rude to be written down, but there was no response. After a short while the nauseating motion had him clamping his mouth shut and attempting to block out the world in a struggle to avoid being sick. Not that he'd have any problems vomiting all over the frog's car (he made a note to make the bastard designated driver the next time they all went out for a drink), but considering that he was currently confined in a fairly small and enclosed space, he didn't really enjoy the idea of rolling around the stuff for the rest of the journey. It would have been bad on a normal day, but his senses had been extra strong since he'd botched the spell and he was fairly sure that he'd have fainted if he ended up in that situation.

After what felt like several hours (England to France was some distance, after all. On that note, how the heck did Francis get him through customs? A wriggling, person-sized sack must have been at least somewhat suspicious) the car finally ground to a permanent halt, and he was once again unceremoniously picked up and tossed over a shoulder like... well, sack. The crunching gravel of the drive was soon replaced by plush and sound-absorbing carpet, as he was dumped onto the floor.

Once the ropes were unravelled and the sack removed, Francis was greeted with an expression that could only be described as 'pissed and dangerous'. Fortunately, his long-time fre-nemey and recent-ally was still slightly disoriented, and an attempt to launch himself at the Frenchman had only resulted in him ending up flat on his face against one of Francis' Persian rugs, moaning slightly and cursing under his breath. He squinted against the bright lights, eyes struggling to adjust after the darkness of the sack. He vision was too bleary to even notice the other man temporarily vacating the room.

In the time that it took for Arthur to somewhat re-orient himself with the world and force himself into what was technically an upright position (the car journey was seriously starting to take it's toll and he felt nauseous and incredibly dizzy, like being drunk without all the fun side effects), Francis had returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Arthur wanted to scoff and request tea, because that was what Englishmen drank instead of poncy wine, and it would do something towards settling his stomach, but at the moment his main priority was to leave the Frenchman a bloodied mess on his own floor so he held his tongue on the matter and instead blurted out the main question on his mind:

"Why the bloody fuck did you kidnap me?!"

Francis took his merry time delicately pouring the wine equally into the glasses, placing his own onto the small table by the sofa and handing the other one across to Arthur, where he was still sat on the floor. His tail was currently curled up against his body, the hairs sticking up in a manner akin to a chimney brush. His ears, although naturally floppy, were clearly pressed against his skull. He was sure that he looked fairly unpleasant, as he felt distinctly ruffled and sweat made his loose-fitting shirt cling unpleasantly to his too-warm body. He hissed at the glass and lunged, but Francis simply held him back with a delicate foot and placed the glass next to his own.

"Put your claws back in, kitten." Francis gently nudged him away from his own body, all too aware of his current temperament and apparently keen to avoid a mauling. "I brought you here today as a _friend_."

"Some bloody friend you are! I'm not going to sleep with you... no matter how much you try to get me drunk." He eyed the wine cautiously and unconsciously wriggled away from the man on the sofa. Francis ignored him, far too used to such accusations to take them personally any more.

"This is... interesting, no?" He gestured at the ears a tail. "Am I to presume you made a mistake whilst casting a spell?" He took Arthur's annoyed silence as an answer.

"It's nothing... really. It'll fix itself." He realised his earlier question had been completely ignored and repeated himself. "Why exactly am I here?"

"Hmm. You are here, _ma cheri_." Arthur hissed at the female use of the term but said nothing, "because we are all tired of watching you dance around _Amerique_. I'll admit it was amusing at first, but in recent years it has become fairly tedious."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"_Mon dieu_, you're so dense it pains me." He aborted another of Arthur's attempts to attack whilst effortlessly keeping a hold of his wine glass, taking a small sip. "The simple fact of the matter is that both of you idiots clearly love here other-" Arthur spluttered in shock, but Francis continued "- and it's about time you both confessed your feelings, got together and then made sweet love." He winked lasciviously at this last part.

"Good God..."

"And that's why big brother France is here to help."

"No, just... no."

"You don't have any choice, little kitten-"

"Stop bloody calling me that!"

"As I was saying, confess your deeply repressed feelings to Alfred and then we can all get on with our lives. You should be grateful, you know. I had to get my precious _Mathieu_ to leave the house so I could do this for you."

"Matthew's here? Good lord, you're even more of a pervert than I thought..."

"No more so than you and Alfred." Anything further was interrupted by a warning growl.

"Just... shut up! I keep telling you, there's nothing between us! I don't even like him!" But the blush on his face betrayed him. Francis was well-versed in the emotions of love, so nothing Arthur could say or do now to convince him anything other than the truth; that the uptight gentleman was absolutely enamoured by the obnoxious, over-loud younger, burger-scoffing nation that he had once raised.

"You're not going to give in? Alright then." Francis took advantage of Arthur's slow responses and generally befuddled state to grab him and start looping the ropes around his upper torso. He yowled loudly and tried to break free, but all the moving around made him feel as though a brass band had taken residence in his skull and the nausea was only growing in severity. Even someone as traditionally weak as Francis had little trouble restraining him. He was now positive the spell had made him smaller, because there was no way the frog would have been strong enough to manhandle him in this manner otherwise. Once he had finished tying him up again, Francis dropped him on the sofa.

"Anything to say, _lapin_?"

Arthur looked distinctly flustered, but didn't give in.

"Hmm, well you're staying here until you can lose enough pride to admit it, no matter how long that may take. Enjoy!" And at this he dropped the sack back over his head, lifted him up and took him into another room.

Swearing muffled and arms thoroughly restrained, a firm hold on his legs prevented Arthur from kicking Francis into oblivion. By this point Arthur was so exhausted, so motion sick and so generally disoriented that his poor brain gave up and he happily welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

_**AN: Two updates in as many days! I'm doing myself proud here ;)**_

_**I'm astounded by the number of favourites and people following me! But please, I know it probably sounds silly, but I love nothing more than getting a review from someone, even if it's only a couple of words ^-^ They make me so happy!**_

_**Anyways, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! No snow here, I'm afraid... just rain, rain and more rain.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Francis was sitting downstairs, his glass of wine refilled and held in dainty hands. Now he simply had to wait. Hopefully this whole sorry mess would be resolved before his precious _Matthieu_ returned. It would be a shame if he had to delay his own happy relationship for the sake of another, but Arthur was an old friend and he was tired of watching him and America pine over one another whilst being utterly oblivious to the fact that their feelings were reciprocated.

And Christmas was absolutely the best time to bring infatuated idiots together. The two lovebirds would definitely owe him after all this.

**_~SR~_**

It took Alfred a couple of hours to cross the channel. Whilst catching a plane and using his status to get past all the usual hassle of travelling abroad would probably have been quicker, he'd instead opted to drive down in Arthur's car and use the channel tunnel. It took a little bit longer, but whilst he was worried about what Francis was planning he was pretty sure that the Frenchman wouldn't be stupid enough to do anything that would actually harm Arthur. And he knew that Arthur wasn't particularly fond of flying even when he was in his normal state, so he needed a means of getting back from France's house once he'd saved his damsel in distress.

France's note had said that he and Arthur would be in his house just outside of Paris. It usually took about three hours from Calais, but Alfred put his foot down and managed it in just under two. He was actually impressed that Arthur's little car could manage it. He himself had a very expensive and very fast sports car back in America, but Arthur had always seemed to resent technological advances; he had only recently acquired a computer and still used a basic phone that could only receive calls and text. His car was just as basic, but apparently it could deal with him driving it, which was quite something.

He didn't park directly outside of France's house because he didn't want the pervy nation to know he was there immediately. Instead, he pulled the car up a hundred or so metres down the street and walked the rest of the way. France's house, much like the person, was both neat and extravagant. Modern and whitewashed, with a massive green garden and rails everywhere. Alfred didn't pay any attention beyond that. He had more important things to deal with this time.

He didn't go to the front door. That would rather defeat the objective of France not knowing that he was there, so instead he stalked around the side of the house and tried to locate the window to what he knew to be the guest bedroom. He knew where France's window was, but hoped that the Frenchman really hadn't put Arthur in there because that would mean that he'd have to really hurt him once he'd released Arthur, and it was far too close to Christmas for things like that to happen. It would completely ruin his festive spirit. After mentally recalling the building's layout, he found the right window, pulled himself underneath it using his excessive strength and then settled in to wait.

Although he was frequently criticised for being brash and acting before thinking, in this particular situation he wanted to know exactly what France was up to before taking action. Especially seeing as it was Arthur's wellbeing that was at stake.

**_~SR~_**

Deciding to extend some kindness to his long term enemy-turned ally, Francis elected to take the younger nation a cup of tea to try and soothe the nausea he was undoubtedly still suffering from. He knew that Arthur would criticize his tea making methods, but he hoped that it would go some way towards placating the very irate man currently occupying one of his guest bedrooms. Maybe, once he was in a slightly better mood, he'd realise that Francis was doing this for his own good and just admit that he was head-over-heels for America, and then they could all get on with their lives.

As he made his way up to the landing, he completely ignored the sound of rustling and a faint swearing coming from his right, simply smiling as everything fell into place. He didn't bother to knock before entering the room; it was his house, after all, and there wasn't much that Arthur could do considering how tied up he was at the moment. Once he'd dumped the unconscious nation in the room earlier he'd removed the sack, slightly worried that he'd suffocate if he was in it and unable to move, but he'd kept the ropes because he knew the younger nation well and, unless restrained, he'd do everything within his power to leave the second he awoke.

As it was, Francis needn't have worried about Arthur trying anything, as the younger nation was still asleep on the bed. Whilst the greenish tinge on his face had faded somewhat, he still looked pale and worn, and a small frown graced his face even in sleep. There was a niggling of guilt, but that soon vanished as Francis smirked when he noticed the nation's tail flicking languidly. After a few moments simply observing the peaceful scene, Francis decided it had been quiet for long enough and prodded Arthur in the side.

The resultant yowling was unexpected but highly amusing. An annoyed and ruffled face was lifted from its place in the pillows and scowled at the Frenchman who had so rudely interrupted his rest. At first his grumbling was unintelligible, but he finally managed to speak some sense:

"What? Please tell me you've realised how stupid you're being and have come to untie me."

"I 'ave tea. Sit up." Arthur managed to wriggle upright, still scowling at the man standing before him. Knowing that he'd never have the opportunity to do this again, Francis took advantage of Arthur's tied-up state and placed the mug on the bedside cabinet, sat down on the side of the bed and started pulling at the newly-acquired features, completely ignoring the loud complaints as a result.

"Let go of my damned tail, you slimy twit!"

"Non." Arthur growled, but was helpless to stop the molestation. After a couple of minutes of pulling his tail and manhandling his ears, he was apparently satisfied and reached back to pick up the mug of tea. It was somewhat tepid now, but there was no way he was going to go all the way back downstairs to make another cup.

"Open wide~"

"I won't let you do this. It's undignifying. And I'm not an invalid." He wriggled away from the encroaching Frenchman. Francis just chuckled.

"You can either let me give it to you or not 'ave it at all. You cannot hold a cup with your hands tied."

"It seems to me that the best way to solve that little problem is to _untie me_."

"Not 'appening, _mon petit lapin_."

"Don't talk French to me, Frenchy." He looked away pointedly, intensely disliking the smug look on his long-term foe's face. However, the tea looked incredibly tempting and he found himself being swayed. Francis could see the internal battle being waged within his friend, but ultimately he caved. England could never deny tea for long. However, as he moved towards where Francis was sitting, he held the mug away from the ruffled nation.

"You can't say you're going to give me tea and then take it away!"

"I can and I 'ave. You know what I want, Arthur." Arthur bared his fangs. However, with the tea tantalising close and the beautiful scent of it even stronger than usual courtesy of his strengthened senses, it took a pathetically short amount of time for him to relent. His entire body slumped.

"I like him, okay?! I really, _really_ like him." He looked away. Francis pressed on. This hadn't taken anywhere near as long as he'd anticipated. The poor lad was probably still feeling ill and exhausted.

"More than just a brother?"

"Would I be in this goddamn mess if it wasn't?"

"And the spell?"

"Oh god, not you too... I wasn't supposed to end up like this, honestly! This was my brothers' fault!"

"But you were intentionally casting a spell, no?"

"... Yes."

"And?"

"I just wanted him to notice me. That makes me sound bloody pathetic, doesn't it?" He gave a small, self-deprecating snort. He was sufficiently annoyed and embarrassed and generally self-absorbed that he didn't hear the small thud as someone or something fell into the rose bushes beneath the guest room window.

"No it doesn't, it just makes you human," Francis replied, sympathetically. "Everyone just wants to be loved; even stuffy old Englishmen who can't cook or 'old their drink."

There was a pause and they fell into a somewhat companionable silence, the tea long forgotten. Just as Arthur was dropping off to sleep again and Francis was pondering what would happen next, the doorbell rang and he left the room. Arthur sighed; what the hell was he going to do now? Of all the nations to know about his pathetic infatuation, why did it have to be that pervert? He could only hope that he wouldn't blurt it out to the first nation he came across. So much for keeping his ridiculous crush to himself.

**_~SR~_**

The door swung open and Francis was greeted with the Alfred's red face. He sighed when he saw the flecks of dirt and one of his favourite roses dragging under the heel of his shoes, but opted not to comment.

"You 'eard zat, yes? That would be the only reason why you're not currently killing me."

Alfred grunted, but couldn't disguise a small smile. He pushed pass the Frenchman, but it wasn't particularly forceful. As he made a beeline to the guest room, Francis knew that he most certainly had overheard their little conversation.

"Come on Artie, time to go home!"

Still only partly awake, Arthur grumbled as Alfred casually displayed his strength by tearing the ropes that bound him to shreds before tossing him over his shoulder like a child. Resigned to the fact that both Alfred and Francis seemed to view him as completely incompetent in his current state, he didn't bother to argue or fight. Hearing Alfred's farewell as they passed Francis in his hallway, he made sure to keep his eyes shut tightly, so as to save himself from the French bastard's smugness. He only opened them again when he felt Alfred drop him into the passenger seat of his own car and strap him in.

He scowled, but as usual this had absolutely no effect on the dense moron.

The silence in the car was uncomfortable. Alfred sat driving, a smile illuminating his face although he hadn't deigned to explain the reason why he was grinning like an imbecile. Arthur, on the other hand, was feeling emotionally and physically knackered. The nausea had subsided somewhat in the last few hours, but he still felt unwell and didn't feel much up to making conversation (he was also still thoroughly tea-deprived). Not to mention that, having finally admitted out loud to that stupid frog that he like liked Alfred, he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to say or do next.

Maybe he should just forget it ever happened. Everyone knew that Alfred was too childish and immature to view Arthur as anything more than someone to drag around on his insane schemes. Even if Arthur felt deeper feelings of affection towards the young nation, there was absolutely no way these feelings were reciprocated. He couldn't risk the friendship they had now, tentative though it was. It meant too much to him, even if it was nowhere near as intimate as he would have liked. At least it was _something_. He didn't know how he would cope if he lost it because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Unbeknownst to him, Alfred was having fairly similar but slightly more optimistic thoughts. Arthur loved him! He was completely in denial of the fact up until less than an hour ago, but he totally had a chance! Now all he had to do was say the right thing and maybe, just maybe, they could take their friendship to the next stage.

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, turning to face Arthur. He was about to break down the barrier that had been in place for fifty or so years, but suddenly realised that Arthur was fast asleep, slumped in the seat and drooling slightly. Deciding that he deserved some rest after what he'd been through in the last day, Alfred faced the road and carried on driving in silence. All the things he had to say could wait a little bit longer.

* * *

_**AN: It's been a fair while since I've updated and I apologise for that. I just couldn't see what I was going to do next! I hope you all had a nice Christmas, and I hope you enjoy this update. Only one chapter left now! And sorry if there are any typos - it's snowing here (I said it always comes Jan/Feb) and my hands are freakin' freezing.**_

_**Also, thank you to HollyKnight, Empress Vegah, BritishTraveller and the Guest who reviewed the last chapter!  
**_

_**Random question: I seem to see a lot of arguments in the fandom about USUK vs FrUk. Am I the only one who likes the pairings equally, as long as they're well written? **_


	6. Chapter 6

**_AN; Feeling a little guilty about how long it's been since I've updated this! As it is, this chapter was induced by some rather lovely cider. I have checked through, but if I've missed any mistakes, just PM/review so I can fix them._**

**_And enjoy!_**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

The journey back to England seemed to take forever. Alfred had a hard time staying quiet, and it was hard to resist the temptation to 'whoop' loudly to himself. He didn't want to wake Arthur, though; the other nation had had a rough day, and he was clearly in need of a rest. He looked pale and worn, although there was a slight flush to his face and small beads of sweat clinging to his brow. Alfred didn't know exactly what Francis had done to Arthur, but he looked somewhat reminiscent of someone suffering from a bug or the flu. He just hoped that he'd start to feel better after some rest. If he didn't, no matter what Francis had done to try and fix their 'relationship' problems, there'd be hell to pay for the pervy nation.

Arthur was still asleep as Alfred pushed the little car up the rough country lanes that led to his house. Alfred was mildly concerned that even bouncing over the many potholes that littered English roads the sleeping nation hadn't woken up, but figured that it was probably for the best. If he was awake, the motion of the vehicle might have made him travel sick, and he knew for a fact that even if Arthur was the one to throw up in the car, it would be Alfred who was left to clean up the mess. After all, he would know that Alfred was far too heroic to make a sick person do that kind of work.

It was exploitive, pure and simple, but Alfred had never been able to say 'no' to the other man.

After a few hours of driving and the cloying silence that made even the cheery Alfred frown on more than one occasion, he finally pulled up into Arthur's driveway. Stopping the car seemed to have roused Arthur at least a little, and he was beginning to stir with vague mumblings and slow movements, although he hadn't opened his eyes yet. Alfred took pity on him and instead of waking him up abruptly, drew him up into a tight hold and carried him into the house. He was kind enough to avoid jostling the nauseous man whilst carrying him, to little protestations on account of still being partially asleep.

Settling him down in the living room, he decided to wait for the dozy nation to wake up of his own accord. This didn't actually take very long, especially after Alfred had dropped him on the sofa and practically entombed him in a pile of blankets and duvets.

Arthur moaned, holding his eyes tightly shut to try and block out the invasive light.

"I feel terrible."

"You kinda look it, too."

"Arsehole," Arthur grumbled from his spot on the sofa, huffing as he buried his head into one of the blankets that Alfred had thrown on top of him. His stomach still felt fairly unsettled and his head ached with a dull throbbing, but at least he was away from that damned frog.

He felt and smelt unpleasantly of sweat, and his clothes were still damp. It was distinctly uncomfortable, and he told Alfred exactly this through a series of muffled complaints and curses. Alfred had chuckled, but then left the room to try and find something clean and comfortable to wear. Arthur looked like he was about ready to fall back to sleep, and it wasn't very nice to do so in dirty clothes.

Alfred helped him shed the sweaty and uncomfortable shirt - or, at least, tried. In the middle of tugging his shirt off he'd been thumped on the shoulder and told to 'piss off back to your own sofa, I can do this myself'. It was replaced it with a very much oversized band tee that Alfred had somehow found in his wardrobe, a relic from his punk days. It was rather cozy, actually. The much-ruffled trousers had also been replaced with some plain black jogging bottoms. Usually Arthur would renounce possessing such an informal item of clothing, but he couldn't deny that they were comfortable for simply lounging around in.

He didn't remember much of the trip back from France, excluding brief forays into consciousness in which he'd felt a hairsbreadth away from throwing up anything he'd managed to eat in the last day. He was grateful that Alfred had decided to drive to France's house; he wasn't sure he'd have been able to cope with flying back. He felt crummy enough as it was, without throwing that sort of stress into the mix.

It was uncharacteristically considerate of Alfred to have thought about this beforehand, but he seemed to have been a lot more thoughtful in general the past few days. It gave Arthur a lot to think about.

Alfred had slumped down in the armchair opposite after complaining about the new bruise he'd acquired. Arthur cast a lazy eye across the room, settling his gaze on the younger man. He was flopped on the armchair sofa with his head resting to one side, seemingly wrapped up in his own thoughts. Bored, it was only then that Arthur noticed the actual state of the room.

"Why are there pine needles all over the floor?"

"Eh? Oh crap…" Alfred bolted upright and launched out the sofa chair, much to Arthur's amusement, leaving the room before he could say anything else. Faintly, he could hear dull thuds and curses, muffled by the fabric of the blanket that he'd buried his head in. A few minutes later Alfred had returning, dragging a rather worse-for-wear Christmas tree behind him.

"Well, that's in a pretty sorry state." His voice actually felt pretty hoarse, but hell would freeze over before he actually admitted it. A cup of tea would solve this issue, but he felt too dopey and a little bit too heavy to bring himself to ask for one.

"Yeah… I didn't really factor in the size of your doors. Why are they so freakin' small? At least you actually have a tree now, though."

"Hmm." But a small smile had crept onto Arthur's face.

"There we go! I was waiting for one of 'em, especially after all I went through to rescue you." Alfred was grinning like a loon. Arthur's smile was quickly replaced by an irritated scowl.

"I didn't need to be saved. Francis was just doing it be-" he snapped his mouth shut and flushed. He could feel his tail curl tightly around his leg.

"Francis was just doing it because…?" Alfred gave him a teasing smile.

"Nothing. No reason. He was just being his usual arse-y self." Alfred gave him a look, but didn't try to force him to continue. There was a comfortable silence as the two men sat, left to their own thoughts.

The bare Christmas tree had been propped up in the one corner, and Arthur raked his eyes over it lazily. It was certainly looking a bit forlorn – Alfred seemed to have knocked a fair amount of needles off it in the process of getting it into the house. It needed decorating, but Arthur wasn't really feeling up to it, and heaven knows what Alfred would do to it if left to his own devices.

They fell back into silence. Arthur absently snuggled up into the mess of blankets, whilst Alfred simply sat there quietly. It was disconcerting, considering how loud he usually was.

Alfred seemed to be humouring him, like an adult would a child. Irritation bubbled forth, fuelled by exhaustion and the unfairness of the past few days.

"I'm not an idiot." He stated, suddenly and sullenly. He saw Alfred lift his head from where he'd settled and watch him attentively. "I know France thinks so, and you probably do too. I know how I feel about you. How the hell could I not know? The pain and misery it's caused me for the last 200 or so hundreds years makes it pretty damn hard to ignore. I'm just… It's ju-"

"It's just what, Artie?"

"You'll laugh. You'll think I'm stupid and pathetic and you'll be right."

"I won't laugh at you, I promise."

Arthur took a deep, shuddering sigh as he steeled himself. No turning back now.

"I-I was scared, alright? I lost you for so long and it hurt so much after the revolution, a-and then after the World Wars we were friends again and it felt so good to know that you didn't h-hate me, even after everything that had happened…" He sighed, but pressed on before Alfred could interrupt. "I always loved you as more than a friend, but I couldn't live with myself if I'd opened my heart and you hadn't felt the same way… I'd rather be a friend and have you only partly, than to not have you at all. Does that make sense?"

His voiced drowned in the stifling silence, and it felt as though the air itself was crushing down on him. Any other words dried into dust. He closed his eyes and swallowed, bracing himself for the inevitable ridicule. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised.

"You're right I think you're an idiot. I've loved you for years, and I wasn't exactly subtle about showing it. I was starting to think that you were being deliberately dense."

Arthur tentatively unburied himself from his nest of blankets, hardly daring to believe the words Alfred had spoken. He peered up at the younger nation, hope's weak pulse settling in his chest. It took a few tries for his next words to come out; his throat felt thick and heavy with an indescribably warm and pleasant emotion.

"I… I thought that everything you did was just me seeing what I wanted to see. I-it was too scary to think that, just maybe, you'd reciprocate those feelings. And… I did notice the way you acted towards me, but I never thought you meant it as anything more than friendly… I-I didn't want to say anything. I would have been mortified if I'd read the situation wrongly. I'm not very good with this relationship stuff, pathetic though that may sound... "

"And you call me stupid! I've loved you ever since you fought with France to be my big brother. I was starting to think it was hopeless. That I was sick and twisted and that there was no way you'd ever feel the same." He gave a watery chuckle, but a clear smile graced his face even through the echo of heartache.

"Seems like we're a pair of fools, then."

"You can say that again." They both basked in the happiness, before Alfred spoke up again.

"I think there's a betting pool amongst the other nations on how long it would take for us to finally hook up. I think this means Kiku'll win."

"Who cares?" Arthur looked at Alfred, his normal scowl replaced by a smile that illuminated his entire being. "Does this mean-?"

"Yes. Any chance of a hug from my adorable boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend sounds so immature, and I'm not adorable…"

"Lover?"

"A bit better."

Alfred had stood up and fallen onto the sofa, latching onto Arthur and wrapping the smaller man in a tight embrace. Arthur relaxed into the warm arms, tucking his head into Alfred's chest and dozing to the calming sound of his heart beat. He could feel calloused fingers gently stroke his fuzzy ears, but it was a soothing sensation.

He felt lighter than he could ever remember having felt. Even the lingering sickness seemed to feel diminished.

The last time he'd felt this happy had been the last time he'd seen Alfred as a child; before everything had started to go wrong. And for the first time in years, remembering this didn't drive that painful ache of loss into his heart.

It was disconcerting. It was also amazing.

He felt Alfred shift and knew instinctively that, no matter what happened, he was stuck with this oaf for good. And he was quite alright with that.

"I refuse to thank Francis, though."

_**~SR~**_

Light flooded into the room through a parting in the heavy drapes. The two bodies were tightly intertwined, skin pressed flush against skin, and legs tangled like so many wayward threads. The sheets were ruffled underneath the dozing pair, the smaller man cocooned in both blankets and his lover's embrace.

Arthur purred and his tail flicked, lethargic and content.

Alfred watched the dozing man quietly, smiling softly at the picture of absolute serenity before him. It felt so amazing to have finally opened up to his former caretaker. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Arthur that he thought his feelings would be seen as sick and twisted; they'd been _brothers_. The fear that Arthur would view him as immoral and disgusting if he'd confessed how he felt had terrified him for decades. He'd had to resort to hoping that how he felt would become apparent through his actions and not his words, although that had never worked particularly well.

Never mind. It had taken a bit longer than these sorts of things usually took, but they'd got there in the end.

He knew that their relationship wasn't going to be plain sailing just because they had both finally picked up the nerve to confess to each other. Alfred had never been in a proper relationship, and he knew he had a lot to learn. There were going to be mistakes along the way, but he knew that he'd never stop feeling the way he did about Arthur, so he wouldn't let that stop him. He'd simply surpass any obstacles thrown in his way. He knew Arthur was worth it.

And Arthur… well, years of abuse and poor relationships with his own brothers and surrounding nations had left him jumpy and insecure. Alfred knew for a fact that, at his vast age, there was no way he'd never been in a relationship before, but until recent years most nations' relationships were based on politics and a mutual hatred for other nations. Actual love rarely factored into the matter.

But that was okay. It was just another thing that they could work on together.

Because Alfred knew that, no matter what happened, he would never let Arthur go. He had waited too long to finally call the other nation his own. Now he had the rest of forever to make up for the years of heartbreak, and he was most certainly ready to step up to the challenge.

He could see Arthur smiling dopily, purrs still reverberating through his chest.

Now the only problem to solve what the whole cat thing…

Because, no matter how cute it was, Alfred needed someone competent to steal notes from during conferences, and how was he supposed to do that if Arthur wasn't there?

* * *

_** AN: And then they spent the rest of forever going at it like rabbits...**_

_**Thanks to all my lovelies for favouriting and reviewing and following! It always made me smile, even if I felt bad about the time between updates... Special thanks to Sxvgwii, HollyKnight, KassyAmlone and the two Guests for reviewing the last chapter, too.**_

_**I consider this the end of Christmas Kitty, although there may be an epilogue at some point. If you enjoyed this, I'm going to shamelessly plug my other finished USUK fic, 'At World's End'. Go and take a look if it's your kind of thing!**_

_**And thanks to all the boys and girls who read this until the end. It makes me endlessly happy to know people are enjoying my fics :)**_


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